


Ways to Hunt

by Skalidra



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Biting, Courtship, Dom/sub Undertones, Intersex, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 13:58:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12558900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: The first time Slade sees the mer, the beast is trapped. Tangled up in a fishing ship's net and lying on the deck in front of him, shrieking and hissing at anyone who even thinks of coming near. Slade's hunted enough mers to be cautious, but also enough to not let the boy scare him. The first order of business is to get the mer the hell off the ship.





	Ways to Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! This is another story for SladeRobin week. This one is for day 5, Predators! Messing around with mers again, naturally. Enjoy!
> 
> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)

The first time that Slade sees the mer, the beast is trapped. Not in a trap _for_ mers, no such thing exists that's ever reliably worked, but every once in awhile a mer will get stuck inside a net and be unable to free itself. Very rarely, but sometimes. There’s no truly safe way to catch a mer, but that comes closest. Generally if they’re caught up in a net and haven’t sliced or chewed their way out yet, they’re well and truly entangled, and the hunter is at less risk of being maimed by lethally sharp claws or a hit from the mass of muscle that makes up their tails. Those are less dangerous on land, but a blow from one can still easily shatter bone.

It's on a ship that his men have just finished raiding; some larger fishing ship that was carrying what looks like the last few weeks in profits. Mainly, they did it to restock on supplies so they can spend more time out at sea before needing to dock, and there’s more than enough on the ship to give them that leeway. Slade calls an order for his men to haul up the dropped net, to see if there's anything in it that they can make use of (maybe something rarer that’s been caught up, or just fresh fish that his men can cook tonight), and when it comes up there the beast is. Wrapped in the thick netting at the bottom, arms wound into it and trapped at odd angles, the more delicate fins along its tail’s length compressed by the thick rope.

It hits the deck with the rest of the net and his men recoil, jerking away from the trapped mer with shouts of alarm. It bares a mouthful of needle teeth through the questionable barrier of the net, thrashing and _screaming_ at them all, loud enough that Slade winces and resists the urge to clasp his hands over his ears. Most of his men don't resist that urge; he doesn’t blame them for that reaction, considering he’s seen men’s ears bleed from maids’ screams before.

It's perhaps an average for its species in size, and it’s definitely male, with short black hair slicked down against its skull and a pair of vivid blue-green eyes. Most of its tail is a red the color of fresh blood, but there’s a few thick striations of a silver-blue color that cut through the red, and its fins are a somewhat jarring mix of the two colors that only sort of smoothly transitions. The silver and blue are youth colors, meant to camouflage younger mers until they’re large enough to protect themselves; an adolescent, not yet fully grown or matured. How interesting. The beast is certainly going to be very large when he's through growing, if he’s this big already.

He'll be worth more when he’s an adult, is the direction Slade finds his mind wandering. Adolescent mers are still mers, and they fetch a hefty price for anyone looking for a pet, or just the pieces of one. But a live, fully grown mer is worth a small fortune given how difficult they are to capture. In the long term, it might be better to leave this one in the wild to finish growing. It’s always good to know what areas have a mer living in them, whether that’s used to avoid them or to know where to look when hunting one. Besides, they don't currently have the tools or materials to properly contain a mer, and doing so without any of it is a very dangerous endeavor. Mers don't like to be caught, and any cage not built for them will quickly fail. Many hunters have learned that lesson all too late.

His men are starting to rally, sheaths releasing swords with rasps of metal that are almost lost beneath the mer’s screams. Slade calls a sharp, “Hold!” as he steps forward, raising a hand to make his men still. It’s met with varying degrees of reluctance, most of his men keep their swords in hand, but no one moves forward.

The mer’s gaze _snaps_ to focus on him. If Slade wasn’t used to the gazes of predators, maybe he’d be intimidated.

He moves forward, approaching the tangle of net with a careful eye on that tail. Both arms are trapped, and the mouth isn’t a threat until he gets within inches, but even weighed down by the net a sweep of that tail could take him down. With that in mind he circles around towards the head, and as he gets close the screams fade away to be replaced with a sustained hiss that makes the hairs on his arms stand on end. It’s an unsettling sound, but Slade ignores the instinct to run that it inspires and sinks down to a crouch just a couple feet away. The mer could reach him with a lunge, but he’d have enough warning to defend himself.

He stays still, holding that blue-green gaze and simply waiting. The mer is still struggling, but it isn’t thrashing with as much vigor as before; it’s coiled instead, waiting for him to make a move or to get close enough the teeth can sink in. The hiss lasts longer than he thinks it’s going to, but he keeps himself steady and just waits it out until it finally ends, till the mer takes a sharp breath and bares that mouthful of teeth at him.

He lets his gaze lower to the points — they’ll shred right through skin; he’s seen it before — before he lifts it again to look the mer in the eye. He keeps his voice low in both tone and volume when he says, “I’m not afraid of you, child.”

The mer’s eyes narrow; from the corner of his eye Slade can see the net-covered tail curl up several inches, and he feels it through the wood beneath his boots when it comes down again with a heavy thud of impact. He doesn’t let it distract him, so he’s fully prepared when the mer suddenly jerks towards him with a sharp swivel of moment, teeth open and aimed at taking a sizable chunk out of his knee. Practiced reflexes let him strike at nearly the same moment, delivering a hard cuff to the side of the mer’s head before those teeth can reach him. It’s hard enough to bounce its head off the deck, and as it blinks — startled, but nowhere close to truly stunned — Slade takes the risk of striking a second time. His fingers wrap around the mer’s throat and the net over it, shoving the beast flat against the wood and on top of its trapped arms.

“ _Down_ ,” he growls, as it bucks and jerks against him, hissing. He shifts forward onto one knee, settling his weight firmly into the hold and squeezing down. It’s enough to cut off the hiss, which lets him bare his own teeth in their language of blatant threat and say, “I said _down_. Put the teeth away, boy, or I pin your tail to my deck with some steel." He tightens his grip to enforce the words, digging his fingers into the giving skin until pain crosses the mer's expression.

There's a soundless snarl, a hard jerk, and Slade starts to consider whether he wants to put his sword through the meat of the tail or a fin. Fins are more delicate; that should keep the beast from struggling too much. Then, before he can get up and actually enact that measure, the mer falls still with a hard shudder. Slade watches, carefully, as the mouthful of needle teeth starts to recede back into the gums, revealing the flatter, more 'human' set of teeth hidden at the base of them. When it's done, Slade eases his grip. He doesn't let go, but he eases the pressure even as he settles his palm more firmly against the column of the youth's throat, to keep the threat obvious but reward the surrender.

A smaller shiver; the mer is watching him intently, narrowed eyes now also joined by an anticipatory edge. Slade wonders, for a moment, what it is he's waiting for.

"So you can behave; that's a good start." Slade gives a much more gentle squeeze to the mer's throat, and watches the blue-green eyes flicker slightly. "I'm going to cut you loose, boy. Will you keep behaving?"

The mer's eyes narrow further, mouth curling into a far less threatening snarl than before. "I won't be caged by you," he spits, voice rough and deeper than Slade was expecting, given his relative youth. Yes, the boy's absolutely going to be a big one given a year or so. "Try and you'll _bleed_."

"I'm not planning on caging you," he denies, matching the snarl with a curl of his own lip. "I'm putting you back in the water. I can cut you loose first or let you figure that out on your own, so you're going to _answer_ me, boy. Will you _behave?"_

The mer looks startled for a few moments. The disbelief is easy to read, as is the confusion as the mer stares at him, clearly trying to figure out if he's telling the truth or not. Slade holds that gaze, and when the moments stretch out too long for his liking he presses down into the mer's throat, curling his fingers to dig the ends of his nails into it. The mer's shoulders jerk a bit, its eyelids flickering again as it breathes in against the pressure of his hand. Slade keeps it for a moment, studying that reaction, before he lets the grip ease again and settles back into waiting.

He's pleased when he only has to wait a couple moments for the mer's eyes to open, and then for it to breathe, "Yes; I will."

Mers might have a different culture than humans — vicious beasts, for the most part — but their expressions read the same; Slade can't find any hint that the youth is lying to him, and he decides that's a good enough assurance. He's taken worse odds before.

He turns his head to look back at his crew, who are watching with a mix of something like awe and terror. That's a good mix; reputation is worth more than almost any measure of wealth. "Wintergreen," he calls, raising his voice to make sure that his lieutenant, one of the only ones that doesn't look openly shocked, hears it, "get the supplies moved to our ship, and set a few men to guard this one's crew until we're finished. Make sure it gets done right."

"Yes, Captain." Wintergreen steps out in front of the crew, shouting out commands to get them moving and force them into action. Slade turns his attention back to the mer, who's watching the crew with narrowed eyes but quickly looks back to him.

Slade keeps his grip on the mer's throat as he reaches to his side, pulling free the knife at his thigh. The mer's lips curl into a snarl, wariness clear in its gaze, but apart from a thick tremble and a very low hiss doesn't fight him as he lowers the knife to the net just above its face. It shivers harder when he slips the blade below the net, dull side scraping against its cheek before he starts to saw through the rope. Its shoulders are shifting, arms probably pulling against the rope they're trapped in, but Slade dismisses it. If there were a blade to his face, even with the dull side, he'd be eager to free himself from any sort of restraint too.

The first piece snaps, and he feels the mer shudder again. "Easy," he murmurs, and then takes a chance at a theory and presses his hand down against its neck again. That guess is rewarded when it takes a sharp little breath and its eyes slide closed. (An instinctual response, maybe? He can't say he's had a mer by the throat before.)

He works at the rope, starting with the area around its head and then moving down, making a hole big enough that eventually he can sheathe the knife for a moment and reach down with his other hand to take the mer by the shoulder and lift it up out of the remnants. Just enough to get it through before he lets it down again on top of the rope. Its eyes open for that, watching him with a bit of haze to its expression but still enough focus to make him sure that he's being paid attention to. Its arms are still trapped, as is everything from its waist downwards, but its torso is free now.

"Nails away, boy," Slade orders, as he pulls its shoulder up and rolls it onto its side, facing away from him. It tenses a bit, but when he looks down to find where its arms are wrapped into the rope, twisted at awkward angles, its claws have slid away the same as its teeth did.

He takes the knife to that rope too, letting his gaze wander the lines of the back of its sloped neck, and the muscle that makes up its shoulders and frames its spine. Paler skin, and he only sees a few minor scars. Not many fights so far, apparently; mermen tend to have a collection of heavier marks from their fights with one another. The males aren't as beguiling and utterly lethal as the maids are, but they are ruthless, vicious fighters. Even the winner of a fight is likely to come away with a new collection of scars, from what he's seen.

Young and inexperienced; no wonder the youth got trapped in the net.

Before fully freeing one of the arms, Slade lifts his hand and fits it around the back of the boy's neck, digging his nails in as he reminds the boy, "Stay still."

When he snaps the last of the rope, the arm eases back to a more natural angle but doesn't otherwise move. Slade still watches it for an extra few moments, just in case there's a delayed attack, but nothing comes. He sets to work on the other arm, keeping his grip on the back of the mer's neck. The second arm isn't as badly tangled, so it's easier to saw through the rope and set it free. That only leaves the tail, and looking down at it he decides that it will be easier to just pull the mer out of the net rather than cut all the rest of it off. He just has to get the mer to cooperate with him; considering its reactions so far, he doesn't think that will be much of a problem.

He squeezes the mer's neck one last time before he lets go, sliding his hands underneath the gap of those arms and tightening his grip to heft the mer sideways and up. There's another small hiss, but the mer doesn't strike at him and seems to pick up on what he's doing pretty quickly, so there's no struggling. There's even a few flicks of its tail to dislodge the last bits of the net when they catch on its fins. It only takes a dozen seconds to pull the mer entirely free, and then to lie it back down on top of the net, face up once more.

The mer's hands press flat to the deck, that anticipatory look back in its eyes as it watches him. Interesting, he would have thought it would be pushing upwards, getting in a position less subservient. Though perhaps it prefers to be flat; both hands are free that way after all, and its reactions will be faster if it doesn't have to let itself drop down first. Slade supposes it makes a certain sense, though it strikes him as oddly close to… submissive.

"I'm going to get you back over the bulwark," he says, putting aside the moment for now and getting back to the matter at hand. "Are you still intending to behave, boy?"

The mer considers him a moment. "Yes," is the answer he gets.

Slade takes his own bit of time to decide the mer is telling the truth before he shifts, sliding his arms in underneath its back and waist and bracing himself to lift. The mer is heavy muscle, with all that tail attached, but he grits his teeth and manages to get to his feet, partially aided by the mer's hands looping around his shoulders and curling into his coat. Its tail is draped awkwardly down against the deck, and scrapes against the wood as Slade carries the mer the dozen feet between where they were and the rail of the ship.

Getting its back on the rail is easy enough. It grips the wood to steady itself, and as Slade shifts down to lift the rest of the tail it asks, "What's your name?"

He looks back up at it, raising an eyebrow as all the myriad of reasons that giving that information is a bad idea cross his mind. Give a mer his name? Why not some of his blood too, just to make the tracking easier? He's not about to invite trouble like that; mers are enough trouble without one actively hunting him.

Slade scoffs, and shoves the mer over the side.

* * *

Just under a week and hundreds of miles later, there's a shark on his deck. Easily ten feet long, belly split open in several long slices that interestingly _haven't_ bled all over his ship. Apparently it was killed sometime before it was flung over the side of his deck to land with a _thud_ loud enough to wake him. There's no sign of where it came from, but given the claw marks Slade has a rather large suspicion. There's no sign of the mer in the water though, so he can't confirm it or take any steps to figure out a reason for the corpse.

He's never known mers to use any sort of poisons, or to give 'warnings' of any kind, so he orders his men to strip the shark apart. Meat, skin, and teeth; everything they can sell when they reach port. They're only a couple weeks out from their port of choice; properly stored, the meat will hold until then.

Four days later, it's a seal. They're at least eighty miles from any sort of land, so he has no idea where it’s come from (unless mers truly are _that_ fast), but nevertheless there it is. This one he gets a knock at his door and a subordinate's call for, instead of it hitting the deck loud enough to wake him. Its throat is opened, but cut in an almost surgically vertical line. As if the killer made that decision knowing the higher price of a more intact coat, like a more professional hunter would. It makes him reassess his definition of the mer as little more than a beast; this takes more knowledge than that.

When the third… gift, appears on his deck, his crew begin to more obviously spook. This time it's a bundled flag from a navy ship, bound at one end with a rope that when sawed through, lets the flag fall open to show what it's wrapped around. A heavy chest containing a stash of coins that looks just about right for a standard navy ship's funds, and what appears to be a collection of at least _three dozen_ _left-side ears._ Slade's seen some bloody displays before, but he doesn't think he's ever seen one presented as treasure. Warnings, certainly, or shows of strength, but never like they were to be valued.

His crew don't outright panic, but they get distinctly on edge. Paranoid. Luckily, from there it's only a couple days until port, and none of them have the time to let their fear make them do anything remarkably stupid.

The port is on the smaller side, but still more than large enough for his purposes. They arrive early morning, right when the markets are starting up, and he steps in beside Wintergreen to manage selling off everything they've gathered over the course of this particular voyage. It distracts his crew, and gives him the time necessary to consider what to do with his… problem.

When night falls, he's decided. His crew are either out in the town, working out the stress of these last couple weeks, or providing a skeleton watch for his ship, so he leaves Wintergreen in command and ventures off to more shadowed, deserted corners of the docks. If he's right…

He comes to the end of one small pier, staring down into the water and watching it lap up against the supports. After one last moment of consideration, he kneels down and dips his fingers into the water for a few brief moments. If the beast is out there, and it truly is following him, that should get its attention.

He's barely removed his fingers before there's a sharp flash of movement in the darkened waters. Hands come up first, clawed fingers digging into the wood of the pier and hoisting a head and broad shoulders above the water as well. Black hair, blue-green eyes made a much darker color by the lack of light, and pale skin that the moonlight reflects off of. Yes, it's the same mer he freed from the net.

Slade keeps his expression impassive as he looks down at the mer, watching it settle onto its elbows, most of its torso suspended above the water and its head turned up to look at him. Its set of sharp teeth are receded, and it has that same look of anticipation it did weeks ago. He wonders, again, exactly what it is the mer expects him to do.

It tilts its head and asks, sounding almost breathless, "Did you like my offerings?"

He considers that choice of wording for a moment, and what to answer. "You're scaring my crew," is what he settles on.

The mer blinks. "Am I scaring _you?_ "

The honest answer is his simple, "No." The 'offerings' are interesting, but they don't frighten him; there didn't seem to be any malice surrounding them. At least not towards him. "Tell me why you left them."

"I don't…” The mer's brow furrows, claws scraping hard enough at the wood to leave marks in their wake. "I don't know human terms. I don't know what to call it."

"Then tell me the word your kind would use."

The mer hisses a bit, shifting and then pushing upwards a few inches as its head tilts back to look more directly up at him. "Courting. I want to court you, and prove to you I'm good enough to be a mate." Slade stares down at the youth, not letting any of the myriad of conflicting thoughts in his head show on his face. The mer's nails dig harder into the wood. "I thought you would like the chest. Humans like those bits of metal, don't they? Coins? I took the ship down; I wanted to prove how many I'd killed for you. I thought fingers, maybe, but the ears were more unique. Clearer counting. Some of them drowned before I got to them, but I didn't count those. Only the ones I killed myself."

The mer… sunk a ship to show off for him. Killed what was probably three quarters of a navy crew to try and _impress_ him. To _court_ him. Came out without so much as a scratch.

"They make good snacks," the mer is continuing. "Crunchier than normal meat." Its expression falls a little bit. "Oh, but you don't… You don't eat human meat, do you? I didn't—” It cuts off, and then says, quieter, "You're not pleased. Of course not; humans are easy prey, they're not impressive enough. And the shark was too small, I know. I can find a bigger one; I'll bring it to you. I'll do better, I pro—”

"Stop," Slade orders. The mer obeys, but it's still shifting, looking almost fretful as it stares up at him.

He shifts back and stands, bracing both hands on his hips as he looks down at the mer. He needs... more information. He needs to know what to expect from 'courting,' and why _he's_ become this boy's choice. Is it because he saved it from the net? Will it be worth it to agree, so he can stretch it out until the mer is fully grown and he can catch and sell it with much less of a fight? He doesn't like having less information than he needs. He needs to be able to have a more extended conversation without the risk of getting caught speaking to the beast.

"A mile down the shore," he starts to describe, recalling what they passed when they sailed in, "there's a small cove; the side closer to here is circled by rocks. Meet me there."

It pauses. "Now?"

He lifts an eyebrow as he nods; the mer's expression brightens, and it pushes back and drops into the water just like that. Slade watches the water for a few moments, but there's nothing to betray it was ever even there. He wonders, as he turns and walks back down the pier, exactly how fast mers travel. He has no doubt that he'll be second to arrive, but he'd be interested to see how quickly a mer can truly move. He'd be interested to see a lot of things when it comes to mers, honestly.

The trek out of town is simple enough. He follows the shore, keeping a few dozen feet away from the water and keeping an eye on it, just in case the mer decides to make an appearance on the way. It doesn't. The rocks he described to the mer come into view soon enough, and he circles around them and reaches the mostly circular cove. The mer is at the shore, its tail now partially visible as the tide gently draws the water up to its chest and then back down. It pushes up on both arms when it sees him.

He comes to stand in the dry sand above it, arms crossing as he looks down. First things first, to put the beast at as much of a disadvantage as possible. If there's any chance that this goes south, he wants to be in the best possible position for it.

"Come up here," he demands, with a nudge of his foot into the sand at his side.

The mer blinks, looking slightly startled, but after a moment obeys him. It's ungainly out of the water, but Slade knew that already. The tail is heavy, and though the mer is clearly quite strong it takes some definite work for it to heft its body higher up onto the shore. Its palms sink into the sand as it moves, the curve of its tail leaving a thick mark through the sand that the tide immediately starts to try to wash away. He waits until the mer is at his side, tail now fully out of the water and its hands and stomach crusted in bits of sand, before he shifts to the side and sits down beside it.

"So, you want to court me?" he asks, looking down at it as it rolls onto its back. One arm lifts, tucking underneath its head to keep it held above the sand; Slade takes a long look at the exposed skin of its side before lifting his gaze again.

"Yes," it agrees, gaze fixed unerringly on his eye.

"We have the same word in our culture, but I doubt it means entirely the same thing." Slade tilts his head, tracking the movement of how it’s breathing and how the muscle of its torso shifts with each breath. "Tell me what that means, to your kind."

That gets the mer to push itself up on one hand, lifting its torso to turn towards him. He's still taller like this, with them both 'sitting,' but it brings the mer's face somewhat closer. "It means that I want to prove that I'm good enough to be a mate to you," it says, and from the corner of his eye Slade can see its main fin flick up a couple inches, like an excited twitch. "I want to show you that I'm strong, and fast, and that I'll be loyal if you accept me."

That word strikes a chord with him. "Loyal?" he echoes, questioning. "In what way?"

It shifts a bit closer, something predatory in its gaze that Slade might be intimidated by, if he thought that it was truly aimed at him. "Any way you want. I'll give you anything you desire, just tell me what it is. Let me prove myself to you."

_Anything_ has a tantalizing sound to it, and Slade finds himself very, _very_ tempted by the idea of having a pet mer at his heels that will do anything he wants. Reputation is everything, and having a mer wrapped around his fingers… That would certainly add to his reputation. "How long does this courtship period last?"

"As long as you want it to. Until you're satisfied, or one of us decides to end it."

"And if I agree at the end? What happens then? I doubt your version of 'mate' is the same as a human would define a relationship." At the least, humans don't tend to give corpses and ears as a way of showing their interest. Usually.

The mer's tail flicks again, and he watches its eyes brighten. "You would take me as a mate. We would share bites, and then the rest of our lives. I would be yours, and you would be mine; to protect and fulfill each other as partners." The mer pauses, and then adds, "I… don't know how humans court, but as courted you have the right to set the terms of how our mating will work. I will give you whatever I can; my only power in this is to leave, if what you ask is more than I can give."

That sounds… _excellent_. A mer utterly loyal to him, that will do nearly anything he asks of it? What a weapon. A mer can take apart a ship, hunt beasts too dangerous for most humans, and doubtless countless other uses he hasn't even begun to consider yet. And if he understands correctly, he doesn't commit himself to anything by agreeing to a courtship; at any time, he can end it himself, or he can ask for too much and the mer will do it for him. What a magnificent opportunity he's being handed.

One thing he needs to know beforehand though, "Why is it that you're interested in me? Is this because I saved you from the net?" If the mer is expecting _kindness_ from him, this entire thing isn't going to get far.

What he's not expecting is for the mer to bare teeth and snap a sharp, " _No_. No, not that."

He narrows his eye, responding to the threat in kind. "Don't snap at me, boy. _Down_."

He's also not expecting the mer's mouth to snap shut as it bows back, dropping down to its elbows in the sand and lifting its chin an inch or so. But once it's happened, and once he can see that anticipation there once again, it starts to make sense. No, the mer isn't interested in him because he saved its life, or showed it some bit of kindness. The mer is interested because he struck it down and held it to the ground until it gave to him, proving his superiority and dominance in an admittedly unfair but perhaps still valid contest. Now that, that makes sense.

"What were you expecting me to do on that deck, boy?" He turns, rising to his knees and reaching forward to slide his fingers around its throat. Its eyes look more wild now, but he shoves it down into the sand and it goes, mouth parting in a shallow gasp. "When I had you by the throat? When you were helpless and at my mercy?" He squeezes down, and he can feel its breath catch, see its eyes flicker. "Go on, boy. Tell me."

It drags in a breath, shudders. "I… I expected you to claim your rights as victor."

He has a suspicion he knows what those 'rights' are.

"I'll allow you to court me," he grants, his mouth curling in a smirk. "So show me, boy. Show me what those rights grant me."

The mer breathes in, eyes wide. Then one hand lifts off the sand, reaching down to take the wrist of his free hand and pull it down. Slade lets him move it, lets him press his hand to the join between scale and skin. It guides his hand lower, gaze intent on his as his fingers are led to a slight difference in the scales, a bit that flexes open as his fingers catch on it and allows them to dip inside. It's slippery and warm inside, _remarkably_ like most of the women he's felt, and the mer's head tilts back when his fingers dip in, baring more of its throat to Slade's grip as its teeth flash.

"Is that right?" Slade slides two of his fingers into that warmth, watching how the mer’s expression twists as he explores the confines of the slit. It isn’t particularly large, and there’s an odd bump towards the top that takes up some of the room, but when he experimentally withdraws and pushes all four of his fingers into it it gives easily, stretching open around the breadth of them. Normal? Or are mers more like actual women and this one’s been wet and willing for some time?

The mer’s shoulders dig into the sand, throat pressing up into his hand as it bucks up, sliding his fingers deeper for a moment. The gasping whine it makes is an excellent sound, but Slade tightens his grip and pushes the youth back down into the sand to cut it off anyway. He swings one leg over, straddling the powerful tail as he leans over the mer, baring his teeth and letting perhaps one of the most animalistic growls he’s ever made rumble out from his chest.

“ _Stay,_ ” he growls, pushing his weight down and curling his fingers _hard_ to scrape along one inner wall. The mer chokes, but the fingers that were lingering on his wrist let go, and it gives a breathless whine when he loosens his grip enough to allow it. “You’ll take exactly what I give you,” he orders, “and nothing more. Are we clear?”

He can hear the scrape of its tail in the sand as it gasps, “Yes. _Yes_.”

"Good."

There's something excellently liberating about being able to free every dark, possessive, controlling urge that he normally keeps in line. To let go of restraint, decorum, and subtlety, and just let himself demand exactly what he wants. Submission. Surrender. For the boy to be laid bare beneath his touch in every way that matters.

He eases his grip, flattening out his hand once more to press against the mer's throat instead of squeezing it. His fingers he pulls free, lowering his gaze to where that hidden gap between the scales is now visible. It's just a different sort of shadow in the moonlight, but he watches two of his fingers disappear as they slide in, and then out again. The slickness is still on his skin, and after a moment's consideration he lifts his hand to his mouth and tastes it.

Sweet, but it's got a tang of salt to it that he supposes makes sense. It's not at all a bad taste; sharper than he can remember any of the women he's tasted being, but maybe not the men.

The mer trembles, and when he looks up it's staring at him, eyes wide, mouth parted, its expression distinctly hungry. Slade lets his mouth curl into a smirk. The mer's enjoying this perhaps even more than he is; it _wants_ all of this. Has from the very start.

"Do you want a taste, boy?" he asks, lowering the hand until it grazes over the mer's parted lips, painting trails of dampness along them. He slides a finger in past the currently dull set of teeth, over a tongue that pushes up against the pressure of his finger but doesn't try to lick at him. "Ever had your own wetness on your tongue before?"

He doesn't remove his finger; the mer only gives a small shake of its head in the negative.

"No?"

It is still relatively young. Maybe…

"Am I the only one to ever claim a victory over you, boy? The only one to ever catch your eye?"

It shivers, and when his finger slips out of its mouth it gives a rough, "Yes. You're the first."

It's a base, deep part of him, but Slade can't help the possessive satisfaction that heats his chest at that admission. He's the _only_ one to ever have this boy; his claim will be the first and any other possible lovers in the future will be measured against his memory. He might even be the only one to _ever_ have the mer, and that's… a lovely thought.

He pushes his fingers back into the boy, working at the warmth and wetness the same way he might a woman; deep, twisting strokes that press his fingers into the upper wall (and in this case, that odd bump there). "You're going to come apart for me, just like this. Have you ever come before, boy?"

The mer's expression is twisted in a strained sort of pleasure, but it manages to look up at him with a bit of confusion. "I've never had a partner," it says, voice breathless but with that same confused edge. "What's the point outside of breeding?"

"What's the point?" he echoes. "Oh, I have _so_ much to teach you, boy. I won't take you tonight, not like you’re expecting, but when I enjoy you how I want to—” he twists his fingers and pushes them in _hard_ ; the mer bucks into his touch with a small cry and a scrape of its hands through the sands "—it’ll be after I’ve seen you fall to pieces under my touch. You’ll be sensitive, brought low, and _then_ I’ll take my pleasure from you. When you're weak, and you know inside and out that you belong to me.”

“ _Yes_ ,” it gasps, and then again when Slade resumes the slide of his fingers.

Then he feels something odd, and when he pulls his gaze down from the mer’s face to its slit he watches what’s unmistakably a mostly-human looking shaft extend out from the top. The color doesn’t seem quite right, darker than normal for someone so pale, but it’s hard to be sure with only the moonlight to illuminate it. Still, it has an obvious shape, and when he shifts his fingers to the top of the slit to confirm his suspicions, he finds it extending from that odd bump he’d noted before.

So, both sexes. He supposes that would explain why the mer would pursue another male, disregarding whatever possibility there is of sexual fluidity in mers. (He wonders, with a smirk and a thought towards those maids he’s captured and sold, if _all_ mers have both sexes. My, that must have been a surprise to several very unlucky owners.)

Sliding his fingers along the edge of where it unsheathed from that bump makes the mer keen and jerk, throat pressing hard into his hand and lower half bucking almost hard enough to knock him off balance. Sensitive, apparently. Excellent.

“That’s a lovely sound,” he comments. “Why don’t you make it again?”

He gets what he wants by rubbing his fingers up against the hidden sheath, and then one step better when he puts more purpose into the touch. The mer cries out, back arching off the sand and eyes going wide. It's enough to remind him that the youth's never been taken by anyone else before. Apparently never touched himself at all, or at least not enough. Never come before, hm? Well, Slade can certainly fix that.

The mer looks strained, overwhelmed and maybe a little shocked, and Slade drinks in every single bit of that expression. He doesn't let up. Now that he's pinpointed how sensitive this bit of the mer is he can abuse it until he gets exactly the ending he's searching for, and given the way he can feel the slit around his fingers spasmodically clenching he doubts that will be much longer.

Its fingers leave deep furrows in the sand, bits of it flicking up as it jerks and writhes. It’s bucking against him too, but Slade bears his weight down into his hand and position astride its tail and that’s enough to keep him in place. He watches its teeth flash, feels and hears its tail curving into the sand and lifting just enough to thump back down. Squirmy little thing, but Slade chalks that up to this being its first experience.

It begins to tremble, expression nearly a grimace; he recognizes those signs.

Slade squeezes down on its throat, getting its gaze to snap to him before he demands, “Come on, boy. Give it to me. Fall; _now_.”

The mer's mouth opens wider, second set of teeth descending as it gives a distinctly animalistic shriek and claws at the sand. If Slade didn't know better he'd say it was in agony, but since he can feel how it's drawing tight beneath him and around his fingers, he dismisses the thought. Not in agony, no. Falling apart. For _him_.

The second shriek is loud enough it nearly hurts his ears, and it comes as the beast jerks and finally, deliciously, shatters. It arches as much as it can between his two grips, body shaking as its eyes roll back and it goes still for a brief second. It makes a sound nearly like a sob as it comes down, cock jerking and splashing a familiar white onto its stomach in several long pulses. More importantly, Slade can feel the rhythmic contraction around his fingers, and the gush of more of whatever sort of slick it produces. He gentles his movements to let it wind down.

When his fingers have drawn to a stop, and his grip on its throat is little more than light pressure, it’s lying still in the sand. Panting, teeth receded once more and its head tilted to the side, a faint trembling still wracking its body. Slade draws his fingers loose, gets a sort of pleased, purring croon that's utterly alien to him in response, and then slides his slick-wet hand up the center of the boy's chest. His eyes blink open, tired and hazed but still that same vivid blue-green.

"Understand the point now?" Slade asks, unable to help teasing just a bit. The mer shivers, undulating up against him as if caught in memory before nodding. "Good. Now I'm going to take what I want from you, boy."

The mer gives another of those small croons, before rasping, "Anything you want."

It's a heady promise. Slade lets his gaze rake down the length of the boy's torso, considering possibilities. He's already thought of and discarded actually fucking the beast, 'properly.' Given the similar anatomy he suspects that the males can apparently carry just like females, and who knows how fertile mers are? Until he knows more about all of that, he doesn't want to risk suddenly being a father once again, especially to a collection of (most likely) tiny mers. Information first.

Given how the mer's reacted to him so far, and in no small part spurred on by his own desires, he wants to do something distinctly dominating. There's oral, but he suspects the boy knows nothing of it and the possibility of those teeth suddenly coming out is another risk he isn't willing to take. That means that he has to find some other way. A hand would be satisfying, but give the mer too much power over him for his taste. His own hand is a decent enough option, but he'd like to be more physical about it than that.

A thought strikes him, and his mouth curls into a small smirk as he considers it. Yes, that will do nicely.

Slowly, he unbuckles his belt and starts to pull his clothing apart. The mer watches avidly, head tilted up now that it's no longer pinned down, expression hungry and fascinated. He draws out the last few moments just because of that, before he finally loosens the last bit and frees his cock. The mer licks its lips, and Slade has to restrain himself from trying to figure out whether the beast is sliding back towards aroused or if it legitimately just thinks his dick would be a tasty treat. (After all, it seemed to enjoy _ears_.)

He rises up onto his knees, and orders, "On your stomach, boy."

It frowns up at him, looking a little confused, but an arch of one eyebrow and a flash of his teeth gets it moving. Carefully it rolls over in the small gap between his legs, presenting him with the length of its back (still mostly scar free) and the tempting line of its neck, barely covered by the lowest bits of its hair. He lets the hand not around his cock lift, pressing it down against the small of the mer's back and then sliding it slowly up the length of his spine. The mer arches underneath his touch, hands pushing into the sand and letting its shoulders and head lift away from the shore.

When his hand reaches high enough, he curls it into the damp mess of the mer's hair and tugs at it as he shifts up to kneel higher over the mer's back. "Stay still."

He watches the mer's fingers curl into the sand, feels the flick of the tail behind him as it hits the sand again; he supposes that's minor enough movement that he can ignore it. With a careful hand he brushes the crusted sand off the youth's back, clearing enough space that when he rocks his hips down his cock only slides along smooth skin. It shudders under him the next moment, its back arching a little further as it gives a high pitched, trilling sound that Slade categorizes as sounding perhaps a little surprised, but still pleased. It's not a familiar noise, but body language completes the picture and Slade lets his mouth curl into a satisfied smirk.

Pulling harder at the hair between his fingers, forcing more of an arch, gets him another trill. He eyes the line of its shoulders, letting his eyes dip to half-lidded as he lets the pleasure of his sliding thrusts spark up his back. For a moment old restraint pulls him back, and then he recalls that the thing beneath him is a beast, not a man, and he's fairly certain there isn't a thing he's holding back that it wouldn't enjoy.

When he sinks his teeth into the skin over its shoulder blade it cries out, but it also shoves hard enough up into his teeth that its shoulder hits his nose and he has to pull back. He bites harder the second time, closer to its neck and letting himself give a growl into that skin. All the confirmation he needs that the mer is thoroughly on board with his actions comes in the form of another trill — breathier, this time — and the way its whole body eases underneath him.

"That's it, boy," he praises, grinding down harder against its back. "You like being bitten, hm? I think I'll enjoy figuring out everything else you like too, but we can start with this."

The mer whines, shivering and pressing back into the hand he has in its hair. " _Yes_ ," it hisses, arms lifting it another inch and voluntarily straining its back a little further. "More. _Harder_."

Slade bends down to growl into the boy's ear, tugging _hard_ at its hair. "This isn't about you," he reminds the mer, in a low snarl. "You'll _give_ what I demand, and you'll _take_ what's given back."

There's a deep, dark satisfaction that rises when the mer only gives to his demand, easing again and relaxing the support of its arms until it hangs mostly from the grip in its hair, neck bent more sharply backwards. This is nothing he could get away with except with someone as intense as he is (even Adelaide would have sooner struck him down than accept this sort of behavior), and being able to truly _free_ that part of himself isn't something he imagined could happen. It's liberating to be so... bestial.

He lowers his free hand to grip the beast's side, twisting it to a better angle as he bites into the side of its neck. It shudders, but gives a quiet trill of sound before Slade even considers pulling away. That sound inspires him to dig his teeth in harder, until the copper and salt taste of blood hits his tongue and he feels the flesh give under the sharpest of his teeth. The mer outright _moans._

Letting that pleasure build at the base of his spine is easy; it's been a few ports since he's taken the time to find someone to sate his desires with, but that isn't the sort of feeling you forget. Smooth skin under him, the elevated breathing and warmth of another person, the smell of sex in the air as he grinds down…

He lasts longer than the boy did, and when he lets himself come it's with a snarl, wrenching at the mer's hair and giving a few last, jagged thrusts against its back. He stays close for a few moments, catching his breath against the boy's throat, before pulling back and pushing him down against the sand. He keeps its head lifted just enough to not be pressed into the grains, as he trails the fingers of his other hand up the muscle of its back, admiring the streaks of his release against its skin.

Another moment of restraint, and then the reminder that he doesn't _need_ to restrain himself, and he lets two of his fingers dip into the quickly cooling splashes, rubbing it in against the mer's back. It shivers, back pressing up into his touch as if asking for more. So he swipes some of it onto his fingers and tugs the mer's head to the side, bringing his fingers forward to its mouth. It opens, and the mer's eyes shutter closed as his fingers slide onto its tongue, letting it lick them clean.

"Like the taste, boy?" he asks, his voice coming out slightly rough. He slips his fingers out, letting them linger on the boy's bottom lip as those eyes open once more, looking up at him.

"Yes," is the simple answer, low and rougher than his voice.

Slade traces the line of the boy's jaw, tilting his head and finally deigning to ask, "Do you have a name?"

The mer nods, turning his head to follow Slade's fingers, lips pressing to them. "Jason."

He waits a moment, but there's no request for his own name (and there's something in Slade that's rather… pleased, about that). Still, it seems like if the mer is going to court him, he should give it something to call him.

"My name is Slade," he offers, easing his grip in the boy's hair to spread his fingers out and scratch at the scalp beneath them. "You may also call me Captain, if you wish."

Jason presses lips to his wrist before meeting his gaze and saying, "Your gift honors me." It has the cadence of ritual about it, but there's nothing in the tone or the boy's expression that makes him think it's not sincere. An interesting bit of mer culture, perhaps. He'll have to have the boy tell him more about the intricacies of this 'courting' business.

"My ship will be docked here a few days, to give my men a bit of time to relax, spend what they've earned." He cups the boy's face, sliding fingers from his hair to squeeze the back of his neck as well. "Why don't you meet me here tomorrow?" he suggests. "Sunrise; if no one is around. Otherwise, sunset."

Jason is still beneath his grasp, eyes fallen to half-lidded, but the mer manages a small nod. "I'll be here." Slade lets go, returning his hands to do his clothes back up and tuck himself away, and Jason turns to look more squarely at him, eyes bright once again. "May I bring a gift?"

"Depends what the gift is." He pulls his belt tight, pushing himself back to his feet and stepping away from the mer as he straightens coat and shirt both. "I'll have to be able to get it back to my ship."

He looks down when the mer rolls over, on its back again at his feet for a moment before lifting itself up on both arms. "I'll bring something small," Jason promises, with a crooked grin. "Tomorrow?"

Slade dips his head in a nod. "Tomorrow," he agrees, before he strides away. He doesn't look back to see how Jason looks, crawling back to the water, or to see if the boy is watching him. It doesn't matter.

The mer will be useful, he's sure, but how useful remains to be seen. There may be some small chance that Jason will be such an enormously useful tool he'll want to keep it, but if he isn't? Well, an enthralled mer will certainly be easier to catch, and even a youth will still sell for a good amount. He'll use the boy for as much as he's willing to give. When that point comes, maybe he'll be surprised. Maybe he'll keep the mer as his.

Then again, maybe he won't.


End file.
